


Lost Time

by CorsetJinx



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Strained Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 09:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11124417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: Kain has a few good memories of his father. Time just makes it difficult to know whether they were real or imagined.





	Lost Time

There is a memory he has - whether it is something true or merely conjured by the wishful thinking of his younger mind he doesn’t know - of a time before his father’s death. Before he’d left the home that had been just for the two of them and been welcomed into the castle as the King’s ward. It is a vague, blurred thing but he can’t help but turn it over in his mind when sleep eludes him for the second night in a row.

His hands ache but his legs feel worse - bumps and bruises from training that he hadn’t sought out reprieve for now mocking him with persistent discomfort. He’s already kicked off his blanket, feeling too warm for such a heavy thing and yet regretting it a minute later as he tries laying on his stomach for the umpteenth time.

Perhaps it is the lack of sleep, the bundle of nerves within his guts or the dogged sense that - somehow - he is doing far worse than he ought to be that brings the notion of the memory to mind.

All Kain knows is that when he forces his dry eyes shut once more to block out the moons’ light he can almost feel a presence settle next to him.

It is warm, as though the person it belongs to has a higher temperature than most. On his next inhale he swears he can catch the scent of old leather and weapon oil, a bit of hay from the wyvern stables. He shifts in his bed, eyes still shut, not sure if he is dreaming at last or if the memory is so strong that it blots out his current reality.

He twitches a little when a weight settles on the side of his head, heat slowly sinking past his mussed hair to warm his scalp. It moves, slowly, brushing along the slope of his head before starting back at his temple once more.

Kain mumbles something, unsure even with himself what exactly he’d been trying to say.

The weight stops, just above the shell of his ear and stays there.

He can almost, almost hear a voice.

_You hardly need to worry yourself to an early grave, boy._

It sounds familiar, like he should know it. Deep and rough, hardened by years of shouting orders in training and on the battlefield.

_Sleep._

He does, waking bemusedly in the morning to an empty room and unsure why the urge to go home is so very strong.

Baron won the war. The castle is his home now.


End file.
